


Give You the Sunset

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Goodbyes, Peter Hale Leaves Beacon Hills, Post-Season/Series 03B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 09:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12554036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: At the end of his rope, Peter leaves Beacon Hills. Stiles stays behind.





	Give You the Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [steternetwork](http://steternetwork.tumblr.com%22)'s October prompt, orange. Post-3B, handwaves Kate & whatever else I’ve forgotten about the season.

Stiles parks his Jeep in someone else’s parking spot, ignores the no loitering sign, and waits. It's early evening when he arrives and he watches the apartment building's residents slowly get home from work. He doesn't recognize anyone. Beacon Hills is a small town, but it isn't that small. No one seems to recognize him either, whether as the sheriff's kid or the kid that keeps running around town with a bunch of shady-looking people as they try to keep Beacon Hills safe from all the crap that's just been leaking out of it. Eventually, he gets out of his Jeep and leans on the passenger side's door. The curtains shift in one of the apartments on the first floor, but no one seems to care about a random kid standing around. Stiles has to admit he probably doesn't look all that threatening.

It's good, since he's not here to threaten anyone.

He's being so non-threatening that he isn't even going up to beat on Peter's door. It's practically saintly, this patience of his. Half of it's the fact that he still doubts this decision, even though it's been long enough since he made it that he should just stop already, and half of it is a bone-deep tiredness. Werewolves, onis, notigsunes, oh my. Even in his head, it hurts to try to joke about it. All he wants to do is sleep for a week, but he's pretty sure he'd get eaten by another mythological monster coming to Beacon Hills if he leaves his guard down that long.

The sunset is beautiful, oranges and reds and pinks blurring together in the sky, but Stiles can barely appreciate it. The man of the hour is finally exiting the apartment complex. At least he doesn't seem to be pretending Stiles isn't there, even though he sure took his time coming down. Peter's carrying the events of the past couple months better than Stiles is, with only some tension in his body that Stiles can see. There aren't any bags under his eyes, and his hair and clothes are as perfect as they usually are. But then, Peter wasn't possessed, and it wasn't his friend who died, and it wasn't his temporary death that's attracting darkness to Beacon Hills. If Peter has any guilt inside him, none of it is for the events of the past couple months. It's been Stiles who's brought terror to Beacon Hills this go-around.

"Stiles," Peter says, coming to a stop and leaning on the car next to Stiles' Jeep. Hypothetically, it may be Peter's car. It's an older model, but a tidy one, cluttered only by the cardboard boxes in the backseat. "This is a surprise. I wasn't aware that you knew where I lived."

"You did taunt me about not knowing. It was basically an invitation to figure it out." Stiles tries to keep his words light, but he's failing. He misses— well, he doesn't miss it, that's not the right word, but he wishes they could just go back to Peter as the big bad wolf and Stiles as the scared but snarky teenager. He'd prefer claws and underground parking garages to an enemy that took over his mind. Stiles rubs at one of the bruises on his arm and says, "Good thing I'm here today. It would be a pain to try to find your new address."

"So you know," Peter gathers, looking him over. Maybe he's looking for weapons or mountain ash, but Stiles can't deal with either right now. Besides, Peter's the enemy he knows, and Peter's not going to kill him. "Are you going to try to stop me? You look like you'd fall over with a particularly strong gust of wind."

"It'll take at least a hurricane to get me down," Stiles replies, only a bit of his usual bluster in his voice.

Peter snorts, but there's something less than cold in his eyes. "I don't doubt it."

For the life of him, Stiles can't say why he's here. Peter Hale is a walking crime scene, the yellow tape invisible but certainly there. Oh, he knows all the reasons he’s given himself over the past couple of weeks, but they don't hold a candle to his common sense. And yet it had been his common sense that Stiles had chucked out the window of his Jeep, not the manila folder he reaches into the car to grab.

"Here," Stiles says, handing it over. "It's your going away present. Since you're not having a party and all."

"It's a disappointment you'll just have to live with," Peter replies, rolling his eyes and opening the folder.

"Shame, I'm a pretty hilarious drunk." Stiles puts his hands in his pockets, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Now that Peter's opened the folder, he's going to know just how weirdly hung up Stiles got about the whole thing. It's incredibly obvious just how many hours of work he'd put into that folder. He opens his mouth to say something glib, but he ends up saying, "My dad said you came by asking questions about getting your identity reinstated."

"These are—"

"Real."

"The sheriff said it would take months to get the situation sorted out," Peter says, still flipping through the papers. When he reaches the last one, he starts flipping them in reverse, his brow furrowed. "As well as a great deal of scrutiny about how exactly I miraculously recovered from both severe burn injuries and death."

"Danny and I made a deal, and it helps to have blackmail on a fed. My dad wouldn’t stoop to that, but, well." Stiles shrugs. He wouldn't admit that kind of thing to anyone else, but Peter can't exactly do anything about it, and he certainly isn't going to give him the judgy eyebrows. "It's not everything. Your financial records are still a mess, so's your credit rating, and if you want any of the insurance money or money you had in your personal accounts, you're going to have to go through Derek to get it. I wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole. But legally speaking, you're alive, you've got a California driver's license, social security card, passport, birth certificate, this year's tax return, outpatient paperwork, the works." It may be invasive and stalkery, but Stiles needed a distraction after they'd dealt with the nogitsune, and the fact that Peter Hale had told his father he was trying to get his paperwork sorted out before he left town for good was something. He could've done a little less, but hey, Stiles is nothing if not thorough. He can't put it on his resume, but he's now very adept at identity theft. "I figure you're already sitting on a pile of cash you left somewhere, so I didn't prioritize figuring out your finances."

"Something like that, yes." Peter's first look away from the folder is one of shock, and even though he looks like he's trying to get it under control, his voice is all strange when he says, "Why on earth would you help me like this?"

Like this, with the full knowledge that Stiles isn't going to get anything out of it. Stiles has been trying to think of a good reason for weeks. Rolling his shoulders, he goes with, “I didn't do it because we're friends or anything. You’re... I don’t like you. But you’re not the devil and I can now say I've met way too many people who I hate a lot more than I ever hated you. You’ve hurt the pack and you’ve helped it, but you've been an ally for longer than you've been an enemy. I needed something to do, you needed something I could do. It worked out."

“And it doesn’t hurt that me leaving Beacon Hills would rule out the possibility of more murder sprees.”

“That, too.” But Stiles could’ve let Peter leave without the papers and they both knew it. It says a lot that Peter would have left without an identity, that this is where Beacon Hills has gotten them to. Former enemies, both too tired to fight.

"All those things are true, and yet none of the things you've said are the unadorned truth," Peter says, a small smirk appearing on his face. It's not one of his mean ones. There's no anger or fear in Peter now. Stiles doesn't mind it at all. "You've learned each time you've fallen. One of these days, Beacon Hills won't know what hit it."

"I think it's more like one of these days, I'm going to get myself killed by the next murderous asshole that comes to town," Stiles mutters. "You have the right idea, leaving this place."

There's something almost fond about his expression when Peter says, "And yet if I asked if you wanted to leave, you'd say no."

"You'd call me a liar," Stiles says, feeling stupid about how little fear he has in him when he remembers that first real exchange between them. He's tired of being afraid, but more, he's tired of being afraid of Peter. The man is going to be gone soon enough. Maybe, he's tired of being afraid for Peter, too, just as he's tired of being afraid for the rest of the pack, even as complicated as all their ties to each other are.

"I'd be right," Peter replies, shaking his head, but there's no madness there anymore. There's just a man who's made every mistake in the books except the mistake of staying here.

"You're right sometimes, I guess," Stiles says with a huff. "Don't have a murder relapse or anything, alright?"

"Scout's honor," Peter drawls. His grip on the folder is tight. "The only thing I want right now is to put a thousand miles between myself and this town."

Stiles desperately, horribly understands that. Peter straightens up and pulls away from his car. If Peter were Scott, Stiles would hug him. If he were Derek, Stiles might shake his hand. But Peter's a whole different category of person and Stiles nods his goodbye and watches Peter's lip curl into something like a smile. It looks good on his face. Stiles still kinda hates him, but he hopes the world outside of Beacon Hills gives Peter more to smile about.

"I'll send you some souvenirs from my travels," Peter says as he gets into his car. "I expect heartfelt thank-yous, so don't die here."

"I'll try," Stiles tells him, swallowing. Goodbyes are still so hard even when it's an enemy-ally-pack-Peter. But as final as this moment feels, Stiles thinks he might see Peter again someday. Not in a month or even in a year, but maybe one day.

It's completely cliche, but Stiles watches him drive off into the sunset, still leaning against his Jeep. It's only a minute until Peter's gone from his sight completely. When he gets home, there's a text message from an unknown number, an image of the _you're leaving Beacon Hills_ sign. The house is quiet and Stiles is still so tired, but it helps to know there's at least one person who isn't going to die in this town. And if he really thinks about it, it helps that that person is Peter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on tumblr as @[crownwithoutstones](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


End file.
